


I Was Burning Up a Fever (Didn’t Care Much How Long I Lived)

by Adsdragonlover



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Dean Winchester, Castiel Loves Dean, Dean Loves Castiel, Dean Winchester is sad, Depression, First Kiss, Fix It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Season 15, Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair, Reckless Tendencies, Requited Love, Sick Dean Winchester, Sickfic, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:55:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27513433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adsdragonlover/pseuds/Adsdragonlover
Summary: He drinks and he hunts and he does both recklessly in a futile attempt to drown out his guilt and his shame.“No,” he rasps quietly, and Castiel stops moving. “No, don’t. I- I don’t want to lose you.”Logically, he won’t. Castiel isn’t here. He can’t heal his fever anyway. He’ll just have to work it out on his own. But he’s not thinking logically right now. All he knows is he doesn’t want Cas to leave. Not again.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 15
Kudos: 306





	I Was Burning Up a Fever (Didn’t Care Much How Long I Lived)

**Author's Note:**

> This episode fucking wrecked me, so after reading a shit ton of fix-it fics and codas I took it upon myself to make like Thanos and “Do it myself.” 
> 
> Title from Hozier’s Work Song

Somehow, at the end of it all, they win. They beat God, and things are returned to normal. 

But Cas is still gone. And it doesn’t really _feel_ like a win for Dean. Everyone’s back, except for Cas. Sam has Eileen and Charlie is back with her girlfriend and Bobby and Jody and Donna and the girls. Everyone. 

And still, no Cas. 

It hurts, seeing Sam so happy with Eileen. He should be happy for his brother, and somewhere, deep down, he is. But now that he knows how Cas felt all this time, knows what he could’ve _had,_ seeing Sam happy with Eileen only hurts him. 

Jack leaves a few days after they win. He doesn’t tell Dean where he’s going or when he’s coming back, and if Sam knows anything he’s not telling. But that doesn’t really matter. 

Dean can’t stay in the bunker. Not anymore. Not when everywhere he looks is empty with the void of what once was, even with all the hunter activity in and out of the bunker. The bunker is never truly empty anymore, but without Cas there, Dean’s never felt more alone. 

It doesn’t feel like home anymore. 

So Dean leaves. He doesn’t tell Sam where he’s going, just says “I need to go for a while,” and Sammy’s smart. Dean can see it in his eyes, the way his brother wants to question it, wants to ask him to stay, but he’s smart enough to know better. 

“Alright, Dean. Be safe, and come back soon,” he says. Sam sounds sad, and maybe if things were different, Dean would’ve stayed. 

But they aren’t. Cas is still dead, and Dean feels like the only one who’s still grieving. The only one who didn’t get their happy ending. “I will, Sam,” he says.

It’s an empty promise, and he gets the feeling Sam knows it too. 

But he doesn’t stop Dean when he leaves. 

He packs his stuff with only what he needs. His hunting gear, some clothes, and a sturdy pair of boots. 

Folded up in the trunk of the impala is the jacket he’d worn that day, Cas’ bloody handprint still there on the sleeve. He doesn’t wear it, afraid the dried blood will flake off and all he has left of Castiel will be gone.

He doesn’t think about how it’s kept in the same place that he’d kept Cas’ old trench coat when he’d walked himself into the lake, doesn’t think about how this is a much more fragile, and much less permanent token of what he had. 

So Dean drives. He drives all around the country, hunting things until his bones ache and he’s beaten and bloody, and drinking his thoughts away in shitty motels afterwards until he passes out and forgets. 

It’s not safe and it’s not healthy, but Dean doesn’t care. He throws himself into every hunt with the kind of recklessness only true heartbreak can cause. 

He drowns himself in whiskey and bourbon to drown out the memory of Castiel’s blue eyes, red rimmed and lined with tears that he’d never seen fall before. 

He drinks and he hunts and he does both recklessly in a futile attempt to drown out his guilt and his shame. 

_Why did I just stand there?_ He thinks as he decapitates a vampire. 

_Why didn’t I say anything?_ He wonders as he wallows in whiskey and misery. 

_Why wasn’t I brave enough to say it before everything went wrong?_ He screams as he shatters the bathroom mirror of the motel room. 

Some nights he can’t bring himself to drink. 

Those nights are always the worst. 

What right does he have to hide in the comforting blur of alcohol? Castiel died because of Dean, and Dean didn’t even have the courage to say it back before he left. 

Castiel died thinking Dean didn’t love him too. 

Those nights are also the most dangerous. 

More often than not, he’ll put a gun to his head or hold a knife against his wrist, wanting to just end it all. 

But he can’t ever go through with it. He doesn’t want Castiel’s death to be in vain. He can’t kill himself outright. Even if Castiel will never know. 

He ends those nights with tears and murmured prayers into his pillow. They always end with “I’m sorry”s and “I love you”s and whispers of “Please come back, Cas”. 

There’s never any response. 

Dean has trained himself out of holding any hope. 

Several weeks into his self-destructive spree, Sam calls. 

Dean doesn’t answer. 

Sam calls again and Dean still doesn’t pick up. He calls again and again that night but he doesn’t leave any voicemails so Dean doesn’t call back. 

He doesn’t know what he’d say even if he did pick up. 

**10:47 PM**

**Two (2) Missed Calls from Sam**

**Sam: Dean, please call me back. There’s something really important I need to tell you.**

**11:23 PM**

**Seven (7) Missed Calls from Sam**

**Sam: Seriously Dean**

**1:13 AM**

**Twelve (12) Missed Calls from Sam**

**Sam: Jack’s back. I think you should come back, Dean.**

It’s been about a month and a half since Dean left the bunker, nearly two months since they won, and a little over two months since Cas died. And still, Dean can’t get Castiel’s last words out of his head. His blue eyes still haunt all his dreams, the smile on his face as the empty took him away is there in Dean’s mind’s eye every time he closes his eyes, his voice as he said _“I love you,”_ still rings in Dean’s ears. 

He stumbles into his motel room, dripping wet from the storm raging on outside, and throws his keys on the bedside table before immediately going for his stash of alcohol. 

One of his ribs definitely feels like it’s broken, and it hurts to just breathe, but all Dean can think about is how peaceful Cas had looked as he stood there to leave Dean for good.

That hurts more than any fucking injury ever has. 

He grabs the bottle of whiskey and sinks down onto the bed, wincing in pain that he knows he deserves. He peels off his soaking wet jacket and tosses it in the corner of the room. He’s cold as fuck, and he knows he could get sick if he stays in these wet clothes, but Dean honestly doesn’t care. 

He knows his whiskey bottle is too close to empty to be fully satisfying, there’s definitely not enough in it to make him black out, but it’s all he has left right now so it’ll have to do. 

He unscrews the top hastily and starts drinking quickly. 

He used to enjoy the taste of whiskey. Maybe he still does. But he never really lets himself taste it anymore. He drinks to get drunk, to feel the burn of it as it slides down his throat and to lose himself in the haze of alcohol as quickly as possible. 

The bottle is empty too soon, and now Dean really has to suffer. He’s all out of alcohol, and not drunk enough to forget anything. 

He lays back down on the bed and closes his eyes. Immediately, he sees Castiel, and if his heart wasn’t already broken, it’d shatter again. 

Maybe it does. Maybe the reason he feels so empty is because his heart somehow breaks a little more every time he thinks of Cas. 

He feels tears begin to well up in his eyes and he scowls to himself. 

_What good is crying?_ He thinks to himself. _He’s not coming back no matter how hard you cry and plead._

That train of thought is just as ineffective at stopping his tears as it is every other time this happens. 

He kicks off his shoes and curls up on the bed, tears blurring his vision as the thunder rolls outside and lightning flashes light up the dark room in occasional pops of color. 

He thinks about Castiel. 

And then he gets angry. _How dare he? How_ dare _he tell Dean that? How dare Cas tell Dean that he loves him and then leave before Dean can say anything back? How dare he leave Dean to pick up the pieces of himself, hollow and alone,_ empty _. Empty without Cas. Empty with the knowledge that Castiel loved him all along. And Dean never said anything. Who gave Cas the right to make him feel so empty?_

In a fit of anger, anger at himself, anger at God, anger at Billie, anger at the Empty, anger at Cas, anger at fucking _everything,_ Dean throws the empty whiskey bottle at the wall. 

It shatters into pieces, and with it goes Dean’s anger. 

He begins to sob, the pounding of the rain outside and the booming of the thunder drowning out his pathetic noises of heartbreak as he mourns. 

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, over and over and over again. “I’m so sorry, Cas.”

“I love you,” he whispers into his pillow, wet with rainwater and tears. “I love you too, Cas. I’m _so_ sorry.”

Dean swears he hears the sound of wings flapping right before he falls asleep, but it’s probably just the rain anyway. 

* * *

When Dean wakes up he sees Castiel sitting on the foot of his bed and starts to tear up automatically. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath. 

“Dean. You’re awake,” says Cas. And _fuck_ his voice hurts to hear. 

“Barely,” Dean responds. Everything hurts. He feels like he’s freezing and melting simultaneously. 

“I was able to fix your rib, but I- I’m low on grace. I can try to remove your fever though,” he says, standing up and coming closer. 

Ah. That explains it. Dean is hallucinating. He’s sick and imagining Castiel. “No,” he rasps quietly, and Castiel stops moving. “No, don’t. I- I don’t want to lose you.”

Logically, he won’t. Castiel isn’t here. He can’t heal his fever anyway. He’ll just have to work it out on his own. But he’s not thinking logically right now. All he knows is he doesn’t want Cas to leave. Not again.

“Lose me? Dean, I’m right here,” Cas says and Dean’s tears begin to fall. 

“Don’t go, Cas,” he pleads. “Please don’t leave me,” he reaches out and grabs the sleeve of Castiel’s trench coat. It feels so real, and that just makes it hurt more. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Castiel says softly, sitting next to Dean on the edge of the bed. 

“I’m sorry,” Dean chokes out, vision blurry with tears. “I’m so fucking sorry, Cas.”

The Cas in Dean’s head says something back, but Dean can’t hear him. He can barely hear anything. It’s too cold. 

He barely registers the blankets being removed and a cold washcloth being put to cover his forehead. Too cold. “I should’ve stopped you,” he whispers, feverish and delirious. “I shouldn’t have just stood there, Cas. I’m so sorry.”

  
Dean doesn’t remember much after that. 

The days pass by in a haze. Dean blearily registers that it’s probably Sam helping him but it still stubbornly looks like Cas every time he’s lucid enough to notice. 

At one point he thinks he sees his mother, at another John is sitting by his side, telling him he did a good job, that he can rest now. 

  
Eventually though, his fever breaks. He still feels like shit, but when he opens his eyes to his empty motel room, his brain feels a lot clearer. 

Dean looks around the room, but he doesn’t see anyone. There are water bottles and Gatorade on the bedside table, and a bowl of ice water on the ground by the bed. Clearly someone’s been helping him, but he doesn’t see any clothes, no suitcase, no sign of Sam being the one to help him. 

For a moment, Dean thinks he did it himself, but that doesn’t make any sense. 

Nothing makes sense right now. Maybe he’s still dreaming. 

He sits up in bed and is surprised to find he can breathe normally without any pain. Dean’s pretty positive he broke a rib on that hunt, so this is weird. 

Dean runs his hands down his face with a sigh. Nothing makes sense right now. 

He thinks back on his fever, trying to figure out who helped him, but it doesn’t clear anything up. If anything, it makes him more confused. 

And more depressed. Because from what he remembers, the person who helped him still stubbornly looks like Cas. 

Dean groans and closes his eyes, trying to fight back tears from building behind his eyes. _Not now._

Then he hears the sound of the motel room door unlocking, and he looks up sharply, watching the door. 

It opens, and in walks a fucking ghost. 

Dean pales. 

“You’re awake, and looking relatively lucid,” Castiel says. 

Dean feels sick. Well, more sick than he already is. 

He stares at Castiel, who frowns and steps inside, moving his grocery bags to one hand and closing the door behind him with his other. “Dean?”

There’s no mistaking that voice. 

“ _Cas?_ ” Dean rasps out quietly, his voice and chest filled with hope that hasn’t been there for a long time. 

Castiel’s whole demeanor softens and he puts down the grocery bags. “Yes. Hello, Dean,” he says. 

Dean’s eyes widen and he tosses off his blankets, quickly getting out of bed, only to stumble on legs that haven’t been used for days. 

Almost instantly, Cas is there, an arm wrapped around Dean’s waist and a hand on his shoulder, keeping him upright.

Dean lets out a shaky breath and pitches forward slightly, wrapping his arms around Cas and burying his face in the crook of his neck as he hugs him tight. “Please tell me I’m not dreaming, Cas,” he whispers, clutching tightly to the back of Cas’ trench coat. 

Cas’ hold on him tightens. “You’re not dreaming, Dean.”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Dean curses, pulling back to look at Cas. “How- how are you here? You _died_.”

“I’m well aware of that fact,” Cas responds, a small smile on his lips. Smartass. “Jack got me out.” 

“How long have you been back?” Dean asks, his eyes roaming over Cas’ body almost frantically, taking him all in. Everything he thought he’d lost for good, back. Here and whole and _alive._

“Several weeks,” Cas responds and Dean starts. 

“What? Why didn’t-?”

“We tried. Sam called you several times but you didn’t answer.” 

Fuck. Dean remembers that. 

“Why didn’t _you_ call me?”

For the first time since he’d died, Dean sees Cas’ expression turn hesitant. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me,” he admits quietly. 

“What?” Dean’s heart sinks into his stomach. “ _Cas_ ,” he says, moving his hands to Cas’ shoulders. “Cas, no. Why would you think that?”

“I didn’t- I don’t know where we stand now. You didn’t respond, Dean. I have no idea how you feel.”

Suddenly, Dean is angry. “Cas, you- you total _asshole,_ ” he hisses. “You don’t- you fucking- Jesus _Christ,_ Cas. I’m your best friend you ass! You- you can’t just tell me you love me, immediately die and leave me alone, and then not fucking _trust_ me enough to fucking call me when you come back alive.”

“Dean-“ Cas starts. 

“ _No,_ Cas,” Dean snaps. “You fucking _broke_ me. You shattered my whole world and then left me. How can you say you love me and then-“ he cuts off with a choked, dry sob. 

“I _do,_ Dean,” Castiel responds gently. “I came looking for you after Sam said he didn’t know where you were. You weren’t easy to find.”

“So you didn’t hear my prayers?” Dean asks.

Cas hesitates. “I heard parts of them. I’m not at full power, Dean. Getting out of the empty weakened me. I heard bits and pieces of your prayers. But I can only fly small distances. I had to look for you, Dean.” His expression hardens. “And when I finally find you, you’re drunk, bloody and broken. How long have you been hunting alone?”

Dean scowls. “It doesn’t matter, Cas.”

“It matters to _me,_ Dean. You’re killing yourself,” his voice isn’t judgemental, just sad. 

“You _left_ ,” Dean says, and the fight and anger melts out of him. “What did you expect me to do?” he asks quietly. 

“ _Dean,_ ” Cas begins. 

“Cas I’m sorry,” Dean interrupts, and he slides one hand from Cas’ shoulder up to cup his cheek. Cas’ breath hitches audibly. “I’m _so_ sorry,” Dean whispers, closing his eyes. He leans forward and rests his forehead against Cas’. “I shouldn’t have-“ he falters. 

“You don’t need to-“

“Yeah. Yeah I do, Cas. I just fucking _stood_ there, Cas.” He feels a tear fall down his cheek, but he isn’t ashamed. He’s allowed to feel upset. Cas won’t judge him. 

Cas’ hands come up, cupping Dean’s face. They ground him, steady him. Cas is here, and he’s _alive._ And Dean’s not going to waste any more time. 

“I let you die thinking that I didn’t love you too,” Dean whispers.

“ _Dean,_ ” Castiel says, his name barely a breath, hardly a whisper. He sounds awed. 

“Cause I _do_ , Cas,” Dean whispers. “I love you too. I promise you I do.” 

It should be scary. Saying those words to Cas. He’s never said them to anyone before and actually meant it, not in this way. 

But it isn’t. It’s as easy as breathing. Saying it to Cas feels as natural as driving Baby. It feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Suddenly he understands how just _saying it_ could make Cas so happy. 

“You were wrong, Cas,” he says. “What you want, you can have it. You can have me. You’ve _always_ had me, Cas. I didn’t know it then, but I was yours from the moment you pulled me out of hell. I love you, Cas.” He vaguely registers that he’s crying, and a part of him thinks about the symmetry of that, but it doesn’t matter. 

Not when Cas tilts his head slightly and their noses slide together until their lips finally meet. Dean sighs into the kiss and it feels like everything finally slots into place, the missing puzzle piece in Dean’s life where it belongs. Kissing Castiel feels like coming home. 

And for the first time in what feels like forever, Dean doesn’t feel empty anymore. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this helped heal y’all. 
> 
> I love you all and please comment. I only survive on the validation given to me by fic comments. Also kudos are nice. 
> 
> If you want to send in a fic request, shoot me an ask on tumblr, my username/account is Adsdragonlover 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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